TMOP: Monstre
by Kathryn Christine Starcrafter
Summary: The term 'Monster' can mean anything from a beast in physical manor or pasted to that of a twisted soul. Sometimes it is the most becomingly seeming of individuals who hold the darkest of hearts while the ones known as 'Monster' are left the hatred of man
1. Flea Fan Fare

**-DISCLAIMER-**

Un Monstre a Paris/A Monster in Paris © Europa Films Corporation

Peau de Fleur, Ma Melodie © -M- (Matthieu Chedid)

The Monster of Paris: Monstre, Peau de Fleur (English Translation), Ma Melodie (English Translation) © Kathryn Christine Starcrafter/Lumorean Arts

**-MONSTRE-**

Scene 1: Flea Fan Fare

The night was still young as the streets bustled with people like a hill of ants scurrying over a crumb of pastry. Within the orange-ish, lamplit glow they all huddled about, eager to enter under the warming wings of L'Oiseau Rare. That name had spread across France like wildfire. That, as well as the stars that had brought its fame, Francoeur and Lucille. It at first had been due to curiosity. Hearing about the girl's connection to the Monstre of Paris as well as the ex-Commissioner's fall from grace granted the singer the recognition she deserved. Then there was Francoeur, her partner and co-star. He was a man of mystery. Not one of the show patrons had ever seen his face without a mask of some sort or another. This lead to gossip which spread all across Europe and gathered names from miles around. Then, when they finally had the privilege to witness an act, it was as magic. That was the whisper on the winds, the poison in the wine. That was how fame was spread, and that was what kept the audience wanting more.

Needless to say the night club and its employees were fairing well.

Tonight was one of those particularly special shows. Through out its rise the Rare Bird had collected plenty of fresh talents to please its ever expanding pallet. Most had indeed originated from France, but not all. Some new talents from England had migrated over, as well as Spain. They had even gathered a singer from Russia and another from Italy. Raoul was amusing in that he had no liking for Raul, the dancer from Rome. The two shared a similar personality, it was just that Raul was more a comic and would often tease Raoul about their names and traits, giving the impression of twins when they looked nothing alike. The dancer had a more bulky frame but was an inch or two shorter. His hair which was a rich caramel lay flat against his scale. Wide, baby blue eyes and freckles only added to the otherwise child-like face.

Then there was also the fact that people never specified at times which one they were speaking about or needed. So it was eventual that they got to defining one as the 'talented one' or 'dancer' against the 'one that invents worthless machines that don't really work.'

It was the haphazard inventor who watched from the private Suite as his adversary preformed on stage. His dance was a strange one, upbeat and almost erratic. Though what most impressed people was the toss-and-catch play with his hat which was different for each performance. Raoul sat back with a huff, arms crossed against his thin chest, eyes turned to the ceiling though their sight was obscured by their owner's exuberant earthen-brown pompadour. The only reason he was sitting through the scene was because of who would come after, one of the two that had brought the theater its new light. It had only been recently that the one known as Francoeur, had begun preforming singular acts. This, and the fact that he both wrote and composed his own pieces, impressing the gangly young adult to almost skimming jealousy. The only truth that kept Raoul under the boiling point came from the fact that the 'Man Behind the Mask' was not a man at all. Otherwise he would have felt highly threatened due to the fact that the performer and his girlfriends of one month now spent an awful amount of time together, both on stage and off.

The curtains closed on Raul's performance and the one looking on reached for his tall glass of champagne, sipping the frothing liquid tentatively in contemplation. It would be a few moments as the stage was rearranged and the singer got into place. It was the weekend and one of L'Oiseau Rare's scheduled multi-nights. Obviously Lucille was with the one preparing, offering last minute comfort and advice. Raoul rolled the alcohol betwixt his fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the rim and fade a bit too intently. He nearly jumped to the ceiling as the lights dimmed, his eyes twitching back and forth as if the occurrence was uncommon but in truth done for most of Francoeur's performances. What was unexpected was the slow strum of a guitar as the curtains expanded, revealing a large -and relatively daunting figure- draped in a suite of a grassy hue, his back to the crowd. Said individual had a tendency of leaning towards more upbeat and active lyrical works for himself while the ones he wrote for his partner were the ones along the milder side.

Francoeur's bulky form swept forward with astounding grace for someone of his size and stature. His mask was green like that of his cloak as well as overshadowed by another wide-brimmed chapeau accented with that of a fan of peacock feathers. His vest as a sun yellow with a similar scarf, both faded to that of a dusky orange due to the diminished lighting. His fingers seemed to dance across the strings of his signature instrument, enticed the audience to look on and listen even more intently than before. Then, when his voice finally rose from his lips it resounded like the call of an angel enticed every soul into heaven.

I grew up

From the roots

That's what I remember

When I cry

Tears

Make me grow

Tears

Make me grow

Just like a flower

I dance in a trance

In transcendence

When my sap dreams

My sustenance

I dried out

I have not cried

For such a long time

I am

Your potted flower

I am

A living flower

If you only knew

I dance in a trance

In transcendence

When my sap dreams

My sustenance

Any critic would agree that Francoeur's words were like poetry brought to life. Women practically drooled over him so it wasn't much of a surprise that a few times during his act Raoul caught the tell-tale signs of high-pitched chattering and longing sighs. The young man glanced down towards the clustered patrons sitting within the main auditorium. The gold-carpeted flooring could hardly be made out due to the mass amounts of bodies packed into the otherwise expansive lodging. They arranged themselves in an unintentional circular pattern like an optical painting due to the rounded, oakwood tabletops scattered about the space. The area where the swoons resounded was near the back where a family of four sat. Raoul could make out an older man and three seemingly exceedingly younger girls. It was two of theses that appeared to be clinging to one another in euphoric glee. He comically gagged in jealous disgust.

Francoeur gave a low bow, shuffling back to default as the curtains draped the prodigious figure from sight. The theater resonated with applause, none so loud as the two girls in the back who sounded as though they were screaming in praise. Officially the caretakers shuffled about to relight the Cabaret's table lamps as the guests began to stand and prepare to leave. As lighting returned to normal brightness Raoul took his cue and stood, stretching his arms above his head till he heard a pop, then relaxed. He glanced to his table and realized he never finished his wine. Oh well, he didn't want to ruin the rest of the night anyway. Those fangirls might have given him indigestion though. Speaking of which, from out of nowhere the two rushed by him like a giggling typhoon. He was knocked forward, prostrate onto his table, causing both glass and bottle to shattered on the floor and drip down over the rail and onto those in the lower hallways. He heard some unexpected yips from below and promptly apologized even though it wasn't really his fault. Where was security when you needed them?

Francoeur calmly walked offstage once his time was done, proud at how well his new piece pleased the ears. However, he felt as always that something was missing. To himself the work was still incomplete and lacking. But he was content in its composition for one reason and one reason only.

"That was beautiful, Francoeur!" Her voice echoed softly against the compact halls of the backstage like the call of the enchanting sirens.

She trotted up to him as fast as possible, her stride limited due to the silken ebony pencil dress strung tightly to her waist and thighs. It fanned out in the back which thankfully granted much more maneuverability than otherwise possible. It was strapless and about her frame glittered metallic ornaments of golden hue. The belt of rings and thin bangles running up her forearms tinkled pleasantly as she made her way to him. A set of pearl earrings and choker complimented the gentle curvature of her face while her emerald eyes appeared as beckons beyond a vale of auburn curls flowing freely down her shoulders.

To Francoeur the Rare Bird known as Lucille was the most perfect being in all existence. He chirped happily and bowed his head. As long as she was happy so was he. Her performance had been done and past, the first of the night.

"Come on." She took hold of his hands and the warmth from her palm radiated through his gloves and up all his arms, making him shiver internally. "Let's get you undressed. I have a surprise for you."

Francoeur purred, following intently. He loved surprises. Though what happened next was not an enjoyable one. A twin set of shrills set both individuals up in arms. They swerved to the source of the screams as two diminutive individuals rushed down the stairs from the royal suite. They both latched hold of the giant's torso, their combined force pushing him from Lucille's touch and into the far wall.

"Oh my god! It's Francoeur!" The first proclaimed.

Followed the second, "Francoeur, we love you!"

Said individual was at a loss, looking down at the girls in stunned unease. They looked as though they could have been twins though there were obvious differences between the two. They were both relatively tiny in both stature and frame. One was rather pale while the other had deeply-toned bronze skin with dimples. The first had eyes pure like fresh water while the darker-skinned girl's were hazel. The blue-eyed child had a very light shade of hair that appeared almost silver beneath the dim lighting, short and stiff in form. The later in contrast had hair hued in chestnut and plastered straight to her scalp, running all the way down to the small of her back. They were both wearing matching apparel, buttery-orange sundresses with spaghetti straps.

Lucille was about to go up to the two and ask them politely to leave. She knew her partner had fans but these were the first who had gotten the gull to jump backstage to ravish their idol.

"Hey, Lucille, Francoeur."

She pivoted around and there following down the stair came Raoul, one arm behind his back while the other waved in greeting. Francoeur himself really couldn't respond in any way due to being suddenly incapacitated, flung into a situation completely foreign to him. Raoul actually didn't pay much attention to his strangled friend, instead he waltzed up to his girl and strung her by the arm, leading her away from the scene.

"Raoul, what-"

"Don't worry, Francoeur will be fine. He needs to spend some time with other people anyway."

Lucille hissed, "you know as well as I do how that may go."

"He's a big boy now, he can take care of himself."

Somehow he managed to wrangle her into her own dressing room before she pulled her arm from his grip.

"What was that all about?"

He still held a smug look on that elongated face of his that told her the gears in his mind were turning -and generally not in a productive way. His freckled cheeks upturned and pink from a grin as well as his sparkling hazel eyes hinted that he was overly happy about something. Must be he wanted to show her a new invention that actually worked. Suddenly he pulled his hidden hand away and presented instead a small, dark bottle of some kind of wine. Lucille never got a look at the label as her beau spun it around and uncorked it, filling two red wine glasses that had somehow been sitting on her vanity with the thick, rose-colored liquor. Raoul set the bottle down and grabbed both goblets by the stem, offering her one. She took it halfheartedly, her mind split between Raoul's kind but unexpected gesture and Francoeur's predicament.

"Drink, my sweet, for tonight the stars and moon are ours for the taking."

It was so romantic and would have captured her heart but for the circumstances at hand. That and the fact that as he took a swig of his own portion he suddenly reeled into a gagging fit and sprayed his wine right across her clean floor.

"Man, this stuff is strong!"

Lucille visibly rolled her eyes at the childish act. At least Francoeur had the decency to admit he did not like alcohol, of any kind. She snapped the thought from her head. There, she was doing it again. She needed to stop comparing the two. Raoul had made a sweet gesture, one he hardly ever gained enough incentive, it would seem, to preform. She should be at least thankful for that.

She set her glass back down on her table, getting a good look at the bottle. It was a Bordeaux, no wonder.

"Thanks Raoul, but I'm really not thirsty. Besides, I kinda have plans tonight."

Lucille opened one of her dresser drawers and withdrew a small length of cloth once white but now so smudged with cosmetics it appeared a musky gray. She handed the material to the still sputtering man who was originally whipping his lips and beakish nose on the sleeve of his tanned leather jacket. He took it without looking and smeared it all over his mouth, which resulted in a blotched patch of dark, waxy coloring coating most of his lower face. She couldn't help but giggle a little. No, she hadn't done it on purpose. Didn't mean it wasn't a little humorous though.

Lucille scrounged around a bit more and recovered a thankfully clean handkerchief and a vile of remover. She dabbed a few drops on the cloth and preceded to clean his face like a mother to a child. He grumbled in protest before gently taking the material from her and finishing the job.

"What plans?" he finally asked.

She shrugged a little. "Not anything extravagant. But I'll be doing something with Francoeur."

"Francoeur?" The way Raoul said the name made her slightly upset. "Lucille, that's all you ever do. You sing at the theater and practice with Francoeur. What about some down time? What about some time with me? What's so important anyway that you can't just put it off till some other night?"

The young singer crossed her arms over her chest, a single hand rolling in the air as if trying to capture the right words. She never looked straight at him when she answered. "Well, you know how I've been saving up to move out of my flat?"

"Yeah." He tossed the soiled linen over the top of a chair leaning in the corner, wondering what this had to do with her singing partner.

"I found a little house near the edge of town. It's a nice place with two floors and a couple bedrooms."

"Kinda big ain't it?" A dark thought was beginning to creep up from the back of his mind.

That was when she decided to get to the point. "I want to move Francoeur out of the theater too. I'm getting the place so that both of us can stay there."

"What?" Raoul nearly hit the ceiling, the rest of his wine spilling onto the wood. "Are you certain that's a good idea? I mean, he likes it here."

"It's not right for him to stay here. He's too kind-hearted to say otherwise and human or not he deserves to have somewhere to call home."

"L'Oiseau Rare is his home, least that's what he sees it as."

"No, he doesn't," Lucille argued. "But that's beside the point. It isn't right, Raoul. I'm moving him in tonight after we leave."

"A bit eager, aren't we? You haven't even shown me the place yet."

"You know, I wasn't even going to tell about any of this. Emile said you would react this way."

"Emile knew about this? Who else?"

The situation at hand wasn't going well.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? But I've already made my decision. He's moving in with me and that's final."

"Fine, whatever. I can see you're not going to change your mind." He swerved around and headed for the door, oblivious to the glass still handing in his right hand.

"Raoul, wait!" She reached for him but he never stopped or acknowledged that she had called his name.

Lucille just stood in her dressing room, holding herself and contemplating whether or not she had truly made the right decision.

Back with Francoeur however things were debatably a bit less stressful. His two fans still held him firmly in place, snuggling into him as if a pair of kittens. He felt so uncomfortable though he didn't know why -maybe it was just because of not having such close contact with other females besides Lucille. Even so, something was still off. In the back of his mind there was a tiny string of instinct being twanged like a guitar cord.

His senses spit in two as another pair of individuals made their presence known. The first was a lengthy girl with amber skin and hair as black as raven feathers. Much like one of the twins her locks were long and straight, only combed in a style to offset and obscure the left portion of her otherwise soft face. Despite that she appeared relatively stunning, the revealed iris such a bright shade of tea it almost appeared like a pool of swirling blood. As if in compliment she wore a scarlet dyed taffeta dress with ruffles flowing from her right thigh to the left. She walked with both hands crossed behind her back and a look that radiated competence and contemplation. At first glance she seemed to be around Lucille's age but something about her whispered knowledge beyond years.

Beside her was an older woman who Francoeur knew well enough. It was Carlotta, Lucille's 'Auntie.' She was a short and pleasantly pudgy woman around her mid forties. Her dirty-blond, pasta-like hair was always elegantly twisted into a bun to crown her scalp. The rest of her frame was hugged tightly by a velvety dress as dark as the night sky over Paris and accented here and there by pearls. This was a female Francoeur didn't mind. Granted she could be a bit exasperating, but he sensed no ill will from her presence.

It was the younger of the two who first spoke. "There you are," she snipped to the other two girls as they glanced up wide-eyed at their scolder. "You two can be so embarrassing sometimes." She took a bony palm and rubbed it into her right eye as if overcome by a headache. Turning to Carlotta she breathed, "I'm very sorry Madam. Please forgive them on my behalf."

"Oh, it's no trouble dear. No harm done." Lucille's Aunt turned down to the only male in the area. "Now, Francoeur I want you to follow miss Capulet here. I'm going to go and retrieve Lucille."

Thankfully the two weights holding him in place released their vice and trotted away, up the stairs and beyond, seemingly unaware of current happenings. He straightened himself, his attention now fully placed on the girl who had been labeled as 'Capulet.' Carlotta herself had wandered off into the backstage hall, headed most likely for Lucille's dressing room to retrieve said individual.

Capulet bowed, her silken hair flowing from her back like streams of midnight. "Pleased to meet you, Francoeur."

Carlotta took her time for the most part as she waddled down the floor towards the row of rooms left stocked with gowns and props. Most of those who had preformed this night had gone home right after their duty. Even so, there were only a few of said chambers designated for a specific individual. Most notably were Lucille's and Francoeur's. She could see her niece's in the distance but something slowed her approach. She heard voices being exchanged and immediately grew concerned. One was clearly male and the other female, both she could place to a name as well. Apparently Lucille and Raoul had gotten into another spat. Poor dears, it seemed there had to be at least one each week. Truth be told she honestly didn't think the two fit one another, not perfectly like a puzzle any how. They acted more like brother and sister than lovers. She would never say so out loud, mind you. This was a matter she knew the girl that she had raised for over a decade now had to piece together on her own. Despite what others may assume, the woman known as Carlotta did care for her niece as though she had sprung from her own loins.

Suddenly Raoul burst from the dressing door and stomped off towards the back exit, a wide-rimmed wine glass dangling forgotten in his right hand. The owner of L'Oiseau Rare let the man pass with no hindrance. She doubted he had even acknowledged her existence. She took a plump fist and gently knocked on Lucille's door.

Said girl jumped with a start as the soft _clunks_ brought her back from the unreality of her thoughts. Lucille released the brace on her own arms and strolled over to the entrance into the small space that had been designated hers. She half-expected to see Francoeur, he always had a knack for appearing when she or others were in distress of some kind or another. However, when she finally opened the door and seen her aunt in the revealed space her heart felt as though it had truly plummeted from her chest to flop lifelessly onto the floor.

"Come, child. I have some people who would like to talk with you and Francoeur. He's with them now."

Carlotta made no attempt to pick at past events. Whatever had happened was her relative's business and Lucille would handle it like an adult or ask for her Auntie's assistance if need be. The young woman nodded and followed after.

The lounge was devoid of patrons safe for one small table set near the exit. It was always such a strange sensation seeing the place abandoned so quickly after an act. People had to return home to their families and sink into bed. Lucille could sympathize. Now, the only ones that seemed to remain -safe the waiters who busied themselves with maintenance- were herself, her aunt, Francoeur, an older gentleman and three other young girls. Really not an excessive amount of individuals given the cabaret's massive space.

It was a comfort to see her partner in good standing after she felt as though she had abandoned him to the wolves. He sat at the same table as the man, still in dress. He wasn't really paying much attention to anything, just twiddling his fingers in disquieting anticipation. As Lucille drew close she could finally make out the only other male of the group.

He was perhaps in his late forties to early fifties. His hair was graying dove-white and clustered most prominently behind his ears and beneath his nose. His face was a sagging mass of skin with deep-set, auburn eyes penetrating into unseen realms. He appeared to have a high-society scowl permanently engraved into his temples though it was possibly more due to age and stress. The clothes he wore were not truly meant for a night on the town, rather like a worker toiling in a cobbler's shop. An ivory, button-down shirt could vaguely be seen behind a pair of red suspenders and earthen trench coat. In one hand he held a tall glass of a pinkish liquor, the Rosé Carlotta often offered as a compliment to early guests.

Behind him stood a girl of around her own age that she had yet to make acquaintance with. Her hands were clasped behind her back, gaze turned downwards to the carpet as if current events held little to no interest. Then, at either side of the man were the twins that had tackled Francoeur before, their eyes wide like kittens tuned to a saucer of milk.

Lucille pulled out a chair and sat next to her stage partner. Next to her sat Carlotta. The man took a long drag from his glass and smacked his lips before setting the empty container to the table.

He cleared his throat before speaking, clearly taking his time with the matter. "Thank you for seeing me. My name is Marrok Sacheverell. My family and I do a lot of traveling and have met some astounding people. Though I do have to admit that you, Francoeur, certainly top that list." He had a distinct English accent, more prominent than the three girls. However his pronunciation of the French language was near spot-on.

Said individual remained silent safe a petite nod. It seemed like this man and his 'family' all held the same deflective aura. It was because of this that he had hardly acknowledged Lucille's presence next to him, so tuned to these people as he was.

"Ah, the modest type. I like that." His words were drawn as though each had much more meaning than what had yet been revealed. Marrok turned to Lucille. "Carlotta has been a dear to tell me some of his origins but I so wish to hear more. Where did you find such talent as his? Please don't tell me in the back of an alley somewhere." He grinned wolfishly as if half expecting such an answer.

Lucille swallowed hard, forcing a nonchalant smile. "Well, I was holding additions for a stage partner for a particular piece and he had been one of the applicants."

"Yes, yes, as I've heard," he drolled as though not satisfied with the answer. "Well, I'm afraid it's getting late and while I would love to probe more into the mind that is Francoeur I will get to the point. I would like to add my darling eldest daughter to your cast of talents."

The face of the girl standing behind him paled, eye bolt open. She snapped at the man. "What? Papa, you can not be-"

Her outburst was silenced by a simple palm raised upright.

"She will be a valuable addition to L'Oiseau Rare, I can assure you. She has the voice of a skylark, don't let her tell you otherwise. As well, she can preform in a multitude of languages, even in the dribbling tongue used by the oriental people."

The girl being spoken about turned her head off to the side with a flush as if either embarrassed or annoyed.

"Well now, if she truly is as grand as you make her out to be I will be delighted to add her act to a showing," Carlotta twittered. "When can she be ready?"

Marrok stood while speaking, eager to get a move on. "As soon as you will, madam. Perhaps we can meet again tomorrow morn to discuss more appropriate arrangements. As well, she can give you a sample as to why I boast."

"Yes, excellent." Carlotta clapped softly as she brought herself to a stand as well, Francoeur and Lucille following suit. "Let us say, perhaps around noon-ish?"

"That would be splendid." He bowed and so did his three daughters. "Goodnight to you all and many thanks for the wonderful show."

The owner and her two stars did the same, watching politely as the group took their time in exiting. Afterwards, Lucille and Francoeur retreated back into the stage and separated into their rooms. Truth be told, the young singer thought nothing odd about the play of events that had just transpired. This had not been the first. Many a proud parent had offered up their prodigy to her aunt for judgment. This had been the first time that said prodigy had acting in such a way. The girl appeared perpetually stunned, as if the notion her father had crated was preposterous. Similarly, this had been a first that said individual had inquired so pointedly about Francoeur. Which had truly at first been the intention of the conversation.

As Lucille removed her gown and began layering on casual ware suited for late spring she could hear something faint fluttering in the air. She listened hard and began to hear another sound, the soft strum of a guitar. Francoeur.

He was humming. As she listened further, closing her eyes, she tried to place the tune. Maybe he was working on a new piece. She remained for a time just listening to his sweet, gentle voice. How it seemed to envelop her in both comfort and warmth. The young woman could listen to his melodies for hours without becoming blasé. Somehow he could invent a new limerick with merely a single note expressed from his lips. He could play all kinds of instruments, though his favorites were string and ivory. But, his gifts were not restrained to mere song and dance. His skills at learning were impeccable. Whenever he set his mind to something he always saw it through to completion. He had even been gradually controlling the effects of the singing potion that had been needed in order to return him to his humanoid state. Loosening the cords in his voice just so much he discovered allowed him to commune without song. Over the past month he had opened up gradually, only recently hinting at a love for painting, and not so unusually, gardening. That kind of artistic talent for some reason didn't make her envious of him. No, she was truthfully content to be his muse. Her smile widened. She couldn't wait to show him their new place.

Lucille quickly wrapped herself in her favorite blue parka fit for spring before grabbing her bag and heading out.

Francoeur had stripped himself of the costume he had worn and hung the clothy shell up on one of the many mannequins used specifically for that purpose. This small room had become his home, adorned with everything in the world that he cherished. Which in all honesty wasn't much. He had a desk in one corner which hosted much of his works in written form. In the other there was a piano. It had originally been Lucille's but she had given it to him seeing as though she could not play herself and it had been one of the instruments that fascinated him.

He stretched himself out and reached for his guitar which he had rested upon the sofa across from the door while he disrobed. Afterwards he laid himself against the downy-stuffed cushions and began humming a little tune. It was not new, no he had invented it a week or so ago, when he had finally interpreted the emotions that sprang up whenever Lucille was near. At first they had been enigma, lumps of clay in need of sculpting. He had gradually been attempting to put them to words, the scattered feelings floating inside of his chest and around his heart like moths to a street lamp. He strummed the melody, letting the notes hang in the air with thought. How foolish to think of one who brought him sorrow as well as joy. She loved another, and even if not there was no possible way she could find feelings for someone like himself. He was an intruder in her world, a creation not meant for a life, a soul. As he considered this he looked himself over.

His form only ever so vaguely resembled Man. A night-blue carapace encompassed most of his insectile bulk. Long, thin legs designed for jumping scrunched up against the opposite armrest while four segmented arms tipped with three gangly fingers held tenderly to the maple-wood instrument. He knew that even if he were human his size would be abnormal, near seven feet tall and three feet wide at the shoulders. He had seen himself plenty of times in reflective surfaces -most called mirrors. Even his face could hardly be considered humanoid. Eyes dyed a golden-scarlet penetrated unseen realms with minuscule pupils. He had no visible nose or ears, the only protrusion upon his head being a set of 'mandibles' at each side of a lip-less mouth. Yes, the Masked Mystery known as Francoeur had once been nothing but an insignificant flea. Now, thanks to science and fated chance he was neither insect nor man. Just a hybrid of both not fit for either world.

These thoughts saddened him. Still, he understood that his existence made the only individual he cared for in this world happy. And he would continue that happiness for as long as he lived. And as long as she was happy so was he.

I would like to find the words

The right words, the right words

But all the words are so obscure

So obscure

The perfect words

Francoeur lentoly brought the first few verses of the work to life. But his concentration soon severed by a repetitive rapping against his door. He set his favorite artefact down to the floor, leaning it against the couch. He knew already who it was. Francoeur lifted himself and proceeded to open the door. There, standing in the revealed space, stood the Angel of the Rare Bird. Her hair was tied into a pigtail and draped across her form was a light, spring jacket flowing down to her knees. She had removed most of her mack-up and ever still the seemingly immortal entity rivaled the very goddess Venus herself.

He bowed, stepping aside to allow her entrance. Lucille hated having to put an end to his voice but she wanted to get going. Francoeur closed the door behind her and gracefully stepped over to one of the mannequins playing host to a much more plain suit of wares. It was just an ordinary black coat and pants, complete with hat and carmine scarf and mask. In a way this had been a more eye-pleasant version of the similar attire he had procured when first dubbed the Monster of Paris. He knew to go to this one in particular because this night was no different than any other after their job at the cabaret had been fulfilled. Whether he had forgotten about her promised surprise was questionable. If that were true it would make the moment all the more magical. It was every night after everything was said and done that the two would leave, arm in arm. Francoeur acted like a bodyguard, his mere presence imposing to even the most audacious thief.

Said flea dressed himself behind a length of paper screen similar to his partner's in her own room. In truth he didn't need to be as discreet with himself as humans did. Any private parts were obscured beneath thick chitin. Still, he preformed the act out of courtesy and -though he would never admit it to her- to make himself feel somewhat normal in her world. He reappeared all dressed for the occasion to find her petite form close by, a permanent smile already cast resplendently across her cheeks. He couldn't help but smile back.

Carlotta watched as her two growing stars of the Rare Bird appeared from one of the dressing rooms. She had just been passing by after attending to the rest of the workers. She was waiting to head home herself, not able to until all the cabaret's needs had been accounted for. Seeing the two walk calmly side by side down towards the back exit brought a smile to her haggard face. Now she highly doubted her niece couldn't see what her own Auntie saw. She could guarantee Francoeur wasn't some distant relation that Lucille had offered the job to. He had just been some random man on the street that had impressed her with song. Then, as they had spent time together, both personal and preforming, anyone with eyes, blind or otherwise, could have seen the bond the two had developed. Maybe it was just her imagination. But she had never once seen Lucille snap at Francoeur, nor him to her. They were so pleasant together, almost never being seen one without the other. Maybe all it would take was a little nudging in the right direction. All romance novels had their little twist. She should know. The uncomely business woman grinned to herself with a twitter of a laugh before disappearing up another flight of steps.

Lucille led her partner down the hall to the door where first that fateful meeting played so long ago it felt. As she stepped out into the night Francoeur felt no ill towards this alleyway, truthfully he viewed the blackened stretch smelling of decomposing garbage and wet clay as one of his most significant. It was where his emotions had finally sank to the bottom of his soul, so deep that it seemed as though they would never taste fresh air again. He had not understand anything then, being flung into a world of obscurities so distinct from the one he had been born into. Lucille even feared him then. The monster craved for a release that was distantly forthcoming. Having no true means of expression he had simply willed whatever may come its way. He felt a bubble of air raise from within his chest without coherent thought. Then another. For some odd reason it felt good, it felt pleasant, almost like a release of sorts. He willed the new sensation into being, manifesting itself into what he now understood to be song and tears. When his spirit had finally left on the air his lungs expelled with that final syllable he had nothing left. That was until a voice, her voice, beaconed him back.

"Francoeur?"

He hadn't realized his mind had drifted. Before, when he was small, -which truthfully felt now like universes away- he only ever had instinct. His mind had been too tiny to contemplate the meaning of time, to believe in something called faith, too insignificant to even dream. The one dubbed Honest Heart would never go back. If the choice was his to make, he would never, ever go back. He had been forced to once, when the accidental mixture of potions had began to ware on him. But still he had not yet lost his sanity. He had resided on the shoulder of the girl whom he remembered and cherished still. He witnessed first hand her sorrow that plagued her over thinking him lost forever. That was when he truly knew she cared for him, and he for her. So Francoeur called out to her in song -the only thing he had left- to comfort her and as a last resort for them both. The final essence of the botanical extracts were waring off, soon his voice would be gone as well. But Lucille had responded in time, with the help of Raoul and a hyper-intelligent Proboscis Monkey named Charles they were able to convince Professor Louis Auclair, the botanist, to invent a new tonic that would turn the flea permanently into the cross breed that he once was. Granted there had been a few changes otherwise from the original.

And now, here he was, in Paris, staring down at the woman who his very world revolved around. How far he had truly come in this great big world.

"Forgive me," the musician's voice whispered a kind-hearted apology. "I was thinking."

That gentle curve her lips always made when she was content returned. "About what?"

Lucille offered him her elbow and he took it without hesitation. "It is nothing important." He would never have to relive those horrible nights alone in Paris ever again.

Her head dropped from his gaze, leading the way out of the back street and into the main walk. "You were remembering when we first met weren't you?"

At this late evening the roadways were all but lively. Maybe a stray car passed by here and there, a late shopper retuning home with her bundle of purchased goods. The night was not entirely cold though it was late March. The building above them grew black, hosting the only stars thus far made from windows giving light to the swiftly darkening violet Parisian sky. The heavy air still clung to the scent of rain though La Seine had since retreated.

His mild, honeyed voice spoke to the wind, "yes."

Lucille's viridian oculars took a quick glance to her partner, his own golden ones tuned to the dusky heavens above. As a sign of comfort she brought her right hand up to lay upon his two forearms that gingerly hooked onto the crook of her opposing limb through a single sleeve.

"Why did it make you sad?"

Like always he took his time in answering. How had she known he was saddened? He had not cried. Francoeur still was not entirely fluid when it came to simply talking. That was why his voice was so soft. Even still, Lucille liked it like that. It wasn't rambunctious, it wasn't demanding. He preferred to listen rather than speak though that was more due to his character. So it was almost like a playful challenge for her, getting him to openly muse his meanderings.

Finally he voiced, "it was my most darkest moment, before you, before my song. I was so very alone, so very lost. I had no one and no one would have me. I was the Monster of Paris."

Even while just speaking his words sounded like a song. Now though they saddened her. He was such a gentle being. There were so few who could have looked past his appearance and seen his anguished soul writhing beneath plates of chitin. Lucille had never placed much belief in fate but perhaps this had been the exception. If he had sung to anyone else would they have granted him the same kindness as she had? The young singer banished the thought. What did it matter? Somehow they had found one another, two angels of music. It was just meant to be. She didn't know how to bring her thoughts to words like he did. But maybe she didn't have to.

Lucille increased her pace, gently tugging the giant, superhuman man-flea behind her. "Hurry, Francoeur. I don't want it to get too dark yet."

Bemused by her sudden change in pace the one being dragged along could do little more than allow her leadership. A few blocks latter and he realized that they were not heading in the direction of her flat. This lead to even more confusion. That was when he began to wonder where exactly they were headed. The walk, despite Lucille's increases pace, took exceedingly longer than normal. He tried to record in his memory the names of the streets they passed along with other landmarks. He would have to find his way back to the theatre without her guidance once he dropped her off to wherever she was going. He couldn't very well hop back, that would bring even the most stupor eyes to attention seeing a gigantic man-shaped figure traveling by air with no aid or hindrance. Still, as deeper and deeper they delved the names become so obscure that it was hard to remember them. Maybe the buildings themselves could be used. It would seem they had diminish after a certain point, almost as though shrinking.

Then, almost as suddenly, her pace began to slow. They rounded another curve where a dwelling stood off in a corner not so particularly. Even so she seemed to be heading towards it. Maybe she was spending a night with that new friend of hers and Raoul's. He had not yet seen her place. Lucille released him once they had eventually come to a stop in front of a tall, metal gate composed into intricate designs in mimicry of ivy. Lucille retrieved from her coat pocket a ring of keys, circling through them in order to find the right one. She selected it and placed it into the hole of the fence where it needed to go in order to allow entry. They walked through and then up a short walkway of cobblestone.

Francoeur was so mesmerized by the structure that he hardly noticed much else when they arrived at the doorstep. It was such a pretty home, and so unusual too now that he had gotten close enough. Up until now he had assumed all buildings, both private and public, were clustered together. But this one stood a bit apart from the city, distancing others by its wall of bronze curvature. It had a small lawn of plain green grass and an awfully wide doorstep that jutted out slightly above the ground with a wooden fence itself and was covered by a canopy of sorts. At least its roof was somewhat normal. It was flat but lined with more of the tall blackish-brown metal-work that made up the gate. Instead of being tall and rectangular the structure had a kind of smooth attractiveness that appealed to him in a strange way. As far as he could tell in the rapidly diminishing light its whole had been painted a kind of rusty red. Though even if it wasn't dark the fact that the place was in general disarray didn't help with assumptions.

The door itself was actually his height which was kind of nice. Most places had doors too small for him which made the unnaturally tall individual have to bend down uncomfortably to walk inside. It was white but still had some flaking here and there. The knocker placed at the height of his chest had been sculpted into that of a lion biting onto a ring used in the actual knocking. What an odd little device. But Lucille did not use it. Instead she sorted through her keys again, finding another to her liking and inserted it into the door, below the knob. He heard a click and the domicile was exposed for all to see. But there was nothing to see, just a shadowy portal into nothingness.

Lucille stood in the opening, her back against the door. "You're probably a little confused now, humm?"

His gaze drew back to her, chirping in acknowledgment. She still liked it when he was speechless.

"This is my new place. Maude, Emile, my Auntie and Gwenaelle helped me move in a few days ago."

Gwenaelle he knew to be the girl from the flower shop that Raoul often made deliveries for and Carlotta made bouquet purchases form for L'Oiseau Rare. She was oddly enough becoming fast friends with the group mainly due to taking an interest in said delivery boy's inventive prowess.

But hearing those words from Lucille made him a bit depressed. She had moved into her new home with out asking assistance of him. He knew she was looking for a place. She had never told him if she had found it or not. By the looks of things it was so big. He could have helped a lot. Why hadn't she told him?

Lucille noticed a pang of regret suddenly crop up behind that mask of his. She decided to change the subject. With a daft hand she reached inside the door and felt around for a switch inside. Her fingers flicked a small protrusion downwards and a sudden burst of light on the opposite side of the wall came to life. His face immediately cocked towards the source of the miniature sun, a small lantern soldered beside the door. It was such a beautiful construct, a white orb glowing beneath a steel plate shaped into a lacy bonnet design. With the new illumination the shadows collecting along the porch shot off into unknown corners still not graced by the reveal. Some sought cover a bit two swiftly, forcing the ever-alert hybrid's eyes to dart around for a moment with a sense of unease.

He turned back to Lucille as she disappeared for a moment into the domicile. Her fingers glazed yet another switch and the innards of the wooden body were lit in a tender, lemony glow. She went back to him then, taking his prodigious hands into hers and leading him inside. Once done she turned behind him to shut the prying eyes of the night out.

"Well, what do you think?"

When she had asked him that he was already taking in his new surroundings. They had stepped into the main chamber which played host to very little at the moment. There was a set of chairs surrounding a table of glass. The precession set atop a round, crimson-dyed wool carpet set in front of a dead fireplace. The actual floor itself was of a tawny-colored wood, the walls painted just a simple white. The left had a stairwell leading around and up into the second floor. Off to his right he saw another room of which he could make out another set of more dainty furnishings and some kind of blocky machines.

Lucile had taken off her coat and strung it onto a rack set beside the door behind her curious friend. She then appeared at his front, taking his hands into hers once more.

"Come, hurry. You must see why I chose the place."

Once again he allowed her the lead, guiding him towards the steps and up. The second floor consisted of at first a small open room facing the front of the home, looking out through a round window into the yard. A hallway turned to the left with another branching to the right, splitting the second level in two. But she bypassed revealing to him the contents of said rooms, instead guiding him down the hall to a seemingly dead end. He looked on curiously, intent on what she had to show him. Currently a strange and out of place length of rope captured his attention. It dangled from the ceiling where he could see trimming cut into an elongated rectangle. Lucille gave him a warning to back up a bit before she gave a great heave on the thick length of line. The hidden exit onto the roof toppled forward, releasing a rickety old ladder down to the floor like the tongue of some tinder beast. Francoeur nearly jumped straight through to the roof instead.

The child-like girl swerved around to the front of the device and began her climb, still bidding him to follow. He did so, taking his time to ease his body through the hole that was in a way just a slight bit too small for his width. He stood at the very pinnacle of the dwelling. There was nowhere left for his charge to run off to. What a strange roof this was as well.

There was many things that could be said of the male singer of the Rare Bird that called himself Francoeur. One of those things that could only be guessed by a startling few was that he had seen plenty of roof-tops. This one however he had never seen before. Not even when he had jumped so high into the sky to escape the screams of the people who feared him. But that frantic route had been out of fear itself. It was highly unlikely that he could have seen every inch of Paris in his flight.

He was right in guessing that the roof had been gated off, the very same substance and design encompassed the small space, almost to near his height. Off to the back, left corner was a dilapidated pile of musky wooden planks and wire glued together with what would appear to be pigeon feathers and their droppings. Francoeur knew them to be called 'Coops' which were used to keep the actual birds for pets or otherwise.

What had finally drew his attention however, came from a glass shack which sat beside the blackened chimney and overtook most of the space. Its panes were stained a milky gray and here and there browning vines poked through broken panels and twisted its metal frame. Inside he could make out the carcasses of greenery. It was, or at least at one point had been, a Greenhouse.

Francoeur took notice of the door that waved as if beckoning him to enter. Lucille must have gone inside already. He took a step forward, but paused for a moment. A gust of wind passed by and he shivered. His senses had picked something from the air. He could not describe it other that it being 'bad.' He had never encountered such a sensation before. Maybe it was only nerves. He shook his head and hurried inside.

All about the enclosure rested dead flora and broken furniture. The shattered remains of terracotta pots and shards of glass like diamonds sparkled enchantingly in the starlight. She stood with her back to him beneath a stream of moonbeams flicking down through a sheet that had been busted open by a feral vine as thick as an oak branch. Her arms were crossed against her chest as if the frigidity of the dark had finally crept inside of her. She was so beautiful, how anyone could remain upset with her was beyond his mortal understanding. Her chestnut locks road down only a slight bit past her shoulders, curling cutely at the tip in defiance at having to be restrained. She wore just a simple sweater colored in an earthen hue with flannel pants of a bit lighter shade. Her boots were black and laced up beneath the bells of said garment. There were no words he could ever imagine that could describe her at this moment, being so plain as yet so amaranthine all at once. This was exactly the reason why that song troubled him so.

Lucille turned to him them, eyes reflecting the skylight like pools of the deepest ocean. Her voice was what finally broke his trance.

"I'm sorry about not telling you but I wanted it to be a surprise. It has so much to offer but was for a good price mostly due to the disarray that certain parts are in. Money really wasn't that much of a factor anyway seeing as how well L'Oiseau Rare is doing these days. But, I thought that maybe it would be like a nice project for the both of us. The roof was what had truly impressed me. With that fencing outside you could be up here alone and no one could see you. And with this we could clean it up, get some new plants. It would be beautiful."

When he didn't say anything, words caught in his dry throat, she softly walked up to him, hands placed ever so cautiously upon his upper arms as though she were attempting to sooth a true monster.

"I got this place so that you don't have to stay at Carlotta's Club anymore. So that you could move here, with me."

Francoeur took a moment to digest her words. Had she really just asked him to stay with her? She had truly taken into consideration a home that suited himself as well as her? He must have been hearing things, she would never... What would Raoul think if she did?

As if sensing his thought she said, "Raoul already knows about it. He's not happy but I already told him it didn't matter. I don't like you staying at the theater all alone. You work there as do I and I know I could only take so much of the place in one day though I do love it dearly."

She stopped speaking then when she discovered his height had suddenly decreased drastically. Her partner had fallen to his knees, making his stature perfect for a man of his size. He then embraced her ever so gingerly as if fearful that if he squeezed to hard she would shatter to dust in his grasp.

"Thank you, Lucille."

His voice just barely above a whisper brought a shiver as the heat from his breath fluttered past her ear. Shock overtook her, never expecting in a thousand years that he would do such a thing. He had been so moved by her offer that it had in turn moved her. Lucile brought her arms up beneath his and gripped the back of his shirt. She could feel the coarse plates and knobby hairs fighting to break through the surface of the flimsy fabric. She closer her eyes, resting her cheek upon his shoulder, returning his hug with all the emotion he had given her.

-**END** **OF CHAPTER**-

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	2. Song Sung By A Rare Bird

**-DISCLAIMER-**

Un Monstre a Paris/A Monster in Paris © Europa Films Corporation

Un Monstre a Paris (Song) © -M- (Matthieu Chedid)

The Monster of Paris: Monstre, Un Monstre a Paris (Song) (English Translation), Do you Remember the Rain? © Kathryn Christine Starcrafter/Lumorean Arts

-**AUTHOR'S NOTES**-

All English translations were made by me with help from a couple of software translators and French dictionaries. Please note that these are not the English 'Versions' of the songs that appeared in the Americanized film.

'Do You Remember the Rain?' And 'Show Me the World (Through Your Eyes)' are both published poems by myself which I have edited as lyrical works for the purpose of using them as songs in this work of fiction.

The Monster of Paris Character Name Origins:

Gwenaelle's name I believe was given to her by the artist known as Bonka-Chan who was pretty much the forerunner for UMAP and the romantic relationship between Francoeur and Lucille. Her character appeared in the beginning sequence of the film with Raoul. She was never given a name, or -at the very least- her name was never mentioned in the actual film or written works that followed after. As such Bonka-Chan's 'Gwenaelle' is her unofficial fan-made name.

The Professor's real name has as well not been mentioned, nor any visual representation of him. As such I have given him an unofficial one for the use of my UMAP series, 'The Monster of Paris' as Louis Auclair. 'Louis' is the French version of German 'Ludwig' which means 'Famous Warrior.' His last name is an old English name loosely meaning 'White/Like Light/Clear.' Why did I make him somewhat younger than the norm? Mostly to make my series unique.

Mama Reve's name is a play off of two songs by Matthieu Chedid, 'Mama Sam' and 'Madame Reve.'

The name of the flower shop at the beginning of the film that Raoul delivered to was unnamed. For this series I used 'Peau de Fleur' (which means Living/Skin/Human Flower) as a play off of another of -M-'s songs of the same name that was used in the previous chapter.

Marrok Sacheverell: If you know the legend of the name 'Marrok' then you will see where this fiction is heading. His name means either 'Defense' or 'Of the sea' and is the French version of Latin 'Marcus.' His last name 'Sacheverell' has its origins as an actual place in France called 'Saute-Chevreuil.' It means "Roe-Buck Leap."

Capulet and Montague are easily pointed out as cameos of William Shakespeare's tragic romance 'Romeo and Juliet.' As well, Capulet's singing voice is similar to Elaine Paige's. She was one of the actresses who played Grizabella for Andrew Loyd Webber's play 'Cats.' The song 'Memory' being her best work in my opinion.

'Abelle' has its origins in Spain from 'Abella,' meaning 'Bee.'

Finally, 'Blanche' is a simple French name meaning 'White.'

**-MONSTRE-**

Scene 2: The Song Sung by a Rare Bird

Afterwards, as Paris grew dark and cold, Lucile took her dearest friend by the hand and lead him back inside. She showed him the rest of the home, such as the kitchen and bathroom and bedrooms. The master she gave to him mostly due to his size. She would never tell him this because she knew he would become upset and argue that she should have the larger room. So instead the singer showed him a few new sets of clothing she had gotten for him. They were special in that they were not costumes, but actual everyday attire. Most of the shirts were sleeveless so that all four of his appendages were free to breath. She even showed him special clothing that was worn only to go to bed in.

That night was the most soundly Francoeur had ever slept in his entire existence.

The next morning promised to be warm as L'Oiseau Rare's angel arose from slumber. She lay on her side, gaze turned to the window that faced the east and shown down rays from heaven. Most of her belongings had been unpacked and organized. She rolled over beneath her downy quilt, not wanting to get up just yet, yawning. That deep breath took in all kinds of scents. The old mingled with the new and now a few that she did not expect just yet. She took another breath, attempting to discern each smell. They were all sweet, savory, and hot. The combination made her mouth water. Lucille forced herself upright, scooting her legs out from the covers and stuffing her toes into a pair of fluffy slippers she always kept beside her bed. She then draped herself within an ivory robe and headed out of her room. She glanced across the way to the chamber closest to the stairwell. That was the master bedroom and that was where Francoeur slept. Tentatively she stretched a hand to the door which swayed easily by her touch. It was open but no one was inside. Just a king-sized bed, all made for the evening, and a dresser. She would have to take him out today so they could get more furnishings.

That was when her ears began to pick up his signature humming, soft and reverberating, almost like a cricket's song. She also caught some other sounds, the soft roar of a stove fire and butter sizzling on a skillet. Lucile turned herself and made her way down to the first floor. The scents were strongest here, wafting to her right, from the kitchen. There she caught a glimpse of what was going on. It made her grin.

Lucille walked up and made herself known within the doorway. Francoeur turned to her, waring a white muscle shirt and tan trousers, his bulky form beside the table with a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. He smiled, using the utensil to top off a pile of pancakes in front of one of the two chairs set against the deco-style, rounded cream-colored table.

"Good morning, Lucille." Francoeur greeted, using his free set of arms to pull out a chair for her.

She just couldn't stop grinning, almost to the point of laughter. This was so sweet it just seemed unreal. Even so she accepted his offer wholeheartedly. Everything looked divine, the fluffy cakes steaming fragrantly in front of her. There was also two saucers off to the side. One she knew held hot maple syrup and the other was filled to the brim with fresh blueberries that had been boiled with sugar. While she took in the bounty her host made himself known again, this time grasping a teapot and two cups, each dangling a string over the rim.

"Tea?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, thank you. Thank you so much."

He poured the steaming water into both mugs and set one in front of her and the other for himself. He might not like wine but she knew he certainly enjoyed tea. The gentle giant set the pot back onto the stove and went to take his seat at her opposite.

"Francoeur, what is all this?" She finally asked, breath-taken.

He had procured his drink and dipped the little bag in and out by its string. "I wanted a way to thank you for everything. You have done so much for me and I so little for you."

Lucile felt almost crestfallen. Did he really view himself as exploiting? "That's not true. You've done plenty for not only myself but for my Antie and her theatre as well."

He sighed, his smiled warming enough without the drink in her hands. "Thank you, Lucille. Your words mean so much to me."

They finally began to partake of the bounty Francoeur had provided. Lucille used a spoon to scoop up some of the blueberries and lifted the crystal decanter of syrup to drizzle the sugary liquid over the crown of the tower of pastries. She then cut a slice and took her first bite. It was like a fluff of cake smothered in butter and fruity sweetness. The berries were cooked to perfection in which none were bitter, but soft and hot and indisputably tasty. She couldn't help but sigh longing, they were the most delectable breakfast she had had since childhood.

"These are amazing! Where did you ever learn to cook like this?" she asked. Where had he learned to cook in general?

The multi-talented flea-man finished a slice of his own before speaking. "Much of it was trial and error, but I had a good teacher."

"Teacher?"

He scratched the back of his skull sheepishly. "Yes, well. There was many a day at the cabaret when I felt compelled to do more than just song. Madam Carlotta allowed me free reign after all the guests had gone so I would mostly wander. I found the kitchen and tried my hand at cookery. That first day did not proceed well." Seeing the look she gave him -eyes wide in fear- made him laugh. "No worries, I and the stove were saved by Mama Reve."

Mama Reve was the head chef who worked in the Rare Bird's kitchen. She was a tall, plump woman from Ireland with a somewhat snippy disposition, more so when she delved too deeply into the whiskey. Lucille knew her well mostly due to her Auntie. Amusingly, the cook did not like Raoul one bit. Either that or she was merely toying with him. It was generally hard to tell if she liked someone or thought them a nuisance. Anyone knew when she was talking about the young man though, often referring to him as having a 'bit too strong-a draft in the attic' among similar quips. Even so, she was not the judgmental type, nor easily spooked.

"Let me guess, she seen you?" Lucille asked.

He nodded slowly. "She saw not much at first through the smoke I suspect. For she did not act too stricken by me at that moment, only for my curiosity. Eventually she did see what I was but she did not act the way I believe most would have." Francoeur paused before revealing, "she was not afraid."

That fact alone took Lucille only ever so slightly by surprise. Mama Reve was an old bird that made a point of having seen it all and done it all in her younger years. Still, it was both a comfort and a curse that someone else knew of Francoeur's true identity. Would the aging cook be able to use the information in some way? If she had not yet than she possibly never would. She and Carlotta got along quite well, the aforementioned content with her current standing.

"She said that seeing me reveled was not much a fright for she believed that I, Francoeur, was either exceedingly ugly or a Monstre to begin with. That was why she deduced that I hid behind a mask and cape in public."

That sounded just like something she would say so the story was greatly plausibility.

"She said that if I was so intent on learning to cook that she would teach me, if for no other reason than to keep the theatre from burning to the ground."

Yup, that was Mama Reve. Lucille laughed, what a lovely, delicate sound she made.

They both finished their meal, content in one another's aura. It was so strange how sitting with a gigantic flea-man eating pancakes and sipping tea could be anything but outrageous. But after getting to know him for so long it felt normal, almost as though she had preformed the same act every morning since childhood. Truth be told this probably wouldn't have happened when they first met due to the fact that at the time the affects of the misshaped mixture only allowed so much humanity through. With the original he wasn't able to effectively even attempt talking, nor could he consume human food. She didn't know if he still felt cravings for blood. Honestly she didn't feel it was her place to ask. And he considered the cavings an animalistic instinct that he could do without when it came to being 'normal.' So neither of them brought up the issue again and all was as it should have been.

Afterwards Lucille retreated back to her room to change for the day. She had even already planned most of it out. They went up to the roof, taking with them large buckets filled with water and mill soap along with a couple of rags. They first set through cleaning out the Greenhouse, stripping stray vines and sweeping up the remains into a couple large bags. Most of the tables had to be removed due to damage in some form of another. Most were not broken but rather overrun by fungus and other degenerative nuisances. As such they decided to discard most of the furniture just to be safe. Next dealt with the actual frame itself. Francoeur insisted that he take on removing the broken panes so that Lucille wouldn't be harmed. The 'skin' along said insectoid's digits allowed very little harm to come to him. A glass dagger which might have sliced a deep gouge into one of Lucille's petite fingers hardly grazed a scratch along one of his. That was why he insisted so badly that he should deal with the more cautious work. She didn't argue, but took to the soap and water and began the arduous task of scrubbing off countless years of grime from the glass that as yet remained intact. In all though only about a quarter of said windows were actually damaged. The rest were merely ill managed.

Francoeur currently stood on top of the glass garden's roof, careful of his indomitable bulk so that those that remained undamaged continued to do so. Amusingly he could be as light as a feather when needed. He had positioned himself in such a way that most of his weight rested on the skeleton itself and not any of the windows. All of those that needed to be removed had been so, as such he was currently scrubbing down the ones that his partner had been unable to reach. He glanced to the cloudless sky and took a deep breath. Judging by the position of the sun's rays as they beat relentlessly upon his back he assessed that it was possibly around high noon. It was hot enough that he had to discard the white shirt Lucille had bequeathed to him folding it along the fence so it would not get dirty.

The rare bird herself had vanished back into the house to retrieve refreshments. Her friend had been so involved with his task that he hardly noticed when she emerged from the trap door and entered inside of the suddenly lit expanse. Atop a forearm she balanced a metallic tray playing host to a pair of tall, dewy glasses of ice water.

"Francoeur, I brought you something to drink," she called.

Lucille glanced upwards and watched as her friend's shifty silhouette descended down the outer shell of the structure. She turned around and waited for him to appear in the doorway. When he eventually did the image that cleared was strange. A sudden serge of emotion shot from the pit of her stomach, inflaming her heart and flushing her face. So many obscure feels had crept up on her all at once like a pouncing lion. Not since Maynott had supposedly killed him had she seen his body exposed. That second dose did not just make him bigger. Before she remembered distinctly his figure being more insectile and, for lack of a better word, 'monstrous.' But now his physique had been altered slightly so. He was far more human than she remembered, far more manly. From his position, dwarfing her by a good two feet, the musculature in his abdomen and chest bulged out like that of a bodybuilder. Making it worst was the hot sweat that speckled his already immaculate exoskeleton. Why had these thoughts suddenly tackled her?

"Lucille, are you alright?" His voice rang in her ear as clear as a bell.

She jumped a bit as something ever so gently glazed her forehead. Francoeur grew concerned upon seeing her face, beat red and watery. He had reached forward, pulling away a tender strand of ginger locks from her eye. Her own appanage reached up and took his into it. With it still resting so comfortably in her palm she glanced down, three elongated digits curled around a segmented paw. So human, as yet...

Lucille silently shook herself, forcing those blasphemous senses back where they had come.

She forced a smile, "yeah, I'm fine."

And though he knew she wasn't speaking truthfully to him he let it go and smiled back.

Carlotta stood at the interior lounge of L'Oiseau Rare, waiting for her scheduled appointment. As of yet there were no acts playing, most planned for farther along in the day. As such the massive show room was devoid of both patrons and staff alike. She tapped her foot impatiently. It had not yet turned to noon but still she had a drive that never stopped. Deadlines needed to be set and papers signed. As such she could not wait for tardiness, no matter the excuse.

Though just as the thought crossed her mind her ears caught the tell-tale sign of doors parting way and footsteps crossing the threshold. A few moments more and the two individuals she had been expecting graced her presence. An older man in suspenders and ebony trench-coat paled in comparison to an exceedingly younger belle clothed in a violet blouse and skirt.

"Welcome, Welcome," Carlotta greeted with all hostile thoughts to the wind.

Marrok bowed and his daughter followed suite. "Thank you, Madam, for having us."

"I am truly eager to see if your offspring is all you claim of her."

He nodded, taking no offense to the comment, just as willing to greet and go. He turned to the youth and motioned for her. Carlotta couldn't as yet think much of the girl other than an obedient slave rather than a daughter. The one called Capulet would not speak out of term, nor disobey. She had only heard her lip once and that had been put down near instantly. Now, seeing this near-phantom of a girl glide by with not even a glance to her own hostess drew a cold breath from Carlotta's lips.

Capulet strolled towards the edge of the stage taking her time in ascending the steps. There were no props in place, the curtains drawn shut. The vast hall was devoid of all life safe for the three. Still the girl couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Her 'father' was using her yet again. Still, she was only an Omega after all. She shook the thought from her mind. She was here to prove she could sing and that was all. There was always the option to botch the job but in the long run, for her own plan, that was not the best of ideas. As long as this new idea of his went off with out a hitch, and the one known as 'Francoeur' remained within her line of reasoning, they could be out of Paris in a month at the most. Then, perhaps, they could be out of Europe for good. Without Marrok.

Capulet smiled with the thought and began to sing.

In the quiet of the moon

With the sweet smell of June

Do you remember the rain?

Your words, smooth like honey

As you whispered to me

Do you remember?

Yes, I do

Such as the rose

That blooms in the shade

My heart longs for the night

When we became one

I listen

I long

I remember

Poetry in motion

Your words on the wind

Your touch so tempting

Dancing against my skin

In the quiet of the moon

With the sweet smell of June

Do you remember the rain?

Your words, smooth like honey

As you whispered to me

Do you remember?

Yes, I do

Yes, I do

Yes, I do

Carlotta's mouth hung open in delight. Yes, she was splendid. Her voice was just a slight bit deeper than her niece's but well aged like some of the finest wines. It held an obvious accent layered within the undertone that gave the lyrics a rustic feel. That alone made the owner of L'Oiseau Rare genuinely believe that this multi-talented girl was all her parentage boasted of her. She stood and clapped petitly in glee.

"Marvelous! Just Marvelous." Carlotta turned back to Marrok. "I would be hard pressed not to add her as one of my performers."

"Excellent," Marrok breathed, expecting such an answer.

"She will be able to sing this Wednesday, I shall place her in the line up to be the first on stage."

Marrok nodded one last time.

"Come, let us discuss plans for her showing."

He had won.

"So what, you don't find it wrong that a guy and a girl are living together in the same house without being married?"

Raoul was on another delivery route, this one for Peau de Fleur, Gwenaelle's flower shop. He currently slung over his right shoulder a large bag of fertilizer, fresh from Professor Auclair's Laboratory. A sense of relief washed over him once he had entered the calming expanse of fragrant flora. As of late this small building had become somewhat of a comfort for him, a private getaway.

"No, not entirely."

Then there was also Gwenaelle herself. She was a plain old wall-flower, not one of the high society crowd his group normally hung out with. Her hair was a brown similar to the earth after a rain fall and normally tied in a tight bun behind her head or down in a braid running down between her shoulders. Her skin was perhaps a bit too pale even though she was a perfectly healthy human being who just spent an awfully lot of time around flowers. She stood with her back against the door, holding it open for her friend to enter.

"Did Lucille even tell you that Francoeur was moving in?" Raoul asked as he entered.

Gwenaelle closed the door behind him, walking towards the back room where her supplies were stored. Within the main expanse there were plenty of tables displaying all kinds of exotic plans from around Europe, and even some from China. The air was pleasantly humid, kept that way for her charges during the fickle weather of the early year, and heavily scented with the sweet fragrances of nectar and pollen. The pair zig-zaged their way across numerous displays and supplies, eventually arriving at another door opposite the wide windows bordering the entrance. Again Gwenaelle opened it for her friend, leaning against its frame to given him enough breath to squeeze through with his load.

"Yes, she did. It was just at the time I didn't think much of it." Her baby-blue eyes fell down to her shoes as she twiddled the strings on her apron's belt shyly.

"Why?"

Raoul dropped the large bag of compost on top of a single older one, taking a few deep breath having finally relieved his burden.

He could tell his new friend didn't want to answer the question. Gwenaelle was a tender but timid woman. That was why she spent most of her time around potted plants rather than human beings. Flowers didn't talk back, they couldn't reticule every minor detail. It was actually himself that had began starting up conversations with her, getting her to express herself. Reason being that on one of his regular deliveries she had made a comment about his 'Atomizer,' the remote that went along with Cathrine to help lift heavy loads into her back. She had taken an interest in the device but quickly shut herself to as not seem nosy. Ever since then he had brought little things here and there to open her little by little. Incidentally, her shop was the same one where his other friends went to so it was eventual that the group would converge together. As such Lucille had invited her to help with the move.

Gwenaelle took a breath, attempting to force herself to answer without stuttering. "I honestly didn't know you and she were the ones who were together. You just didn't seem like," she stopped, afraid to go further.

Instead, Raoul softly continued for her. "Yeah, I know. We don't ever act, or even look like a couple."

He sighed and placed his hands into the pockets of his new jacket -this one made of genuine leather. She was right. He and Lucille appeared to the public as nothing more than friends, at the most. Otherwise it was their timeless childhood rivalries that cropped themselves up ever so often and then not even their thinning friendship could save them. It almost felt as though since they had become an official couple their connection had severed. Maybe it was because they focused too much on 'acting the part,' letting all other emotional impulses fall to the wayside. Did that make them incompatible?

Outside two characters slowly strolled upon the slippery sidewalk, musing quietly to one another.

"Part one is complete. We have successfully infiltrated our prey's territory," a raspy voice hissed in the wind.

His companion didn't speak up immediately, eventually musing a "yes," before becoming silent once again.

Marrok halted suddenly, almost causing the girl to ram into him in surprise. He pivoted on his heel, glowering down at her.

"Where is you mind right now?"

Capulet held his gaze with out faltering, both waiting for a flicker of submission from the other. Neither was forthcoming.

"You must have it focused on the task at hand if we are to succeed in this endeavor."

"You mean if You are to succeed in this endeavor."

She was challenging him and he knew it. But Marrok would not let his control waver. So far he still held the upper hand in their currently unstable hierarchy. Capulet only continued to prod at him, tempting him to falter. Waiting for a chance to strike again. But that eye was a reminder, a scar not soon forgotten.

This time it was Capulet who turned away, sending her amber gaze across the street to a cluster of shoppers and their groceries. She had backed down, for now. There was a flower shop there also. Out front a strange box-shaped vehicle with 'Cathrine' printed onto its size was parked along the walk. Her vision caught rustling within the brightly lit store, making out accurately a man she knew from the theater.

"If you will it I will continue to gather information." Capulet never altered her stare.

Marrok turned to follow her sight. He did not discover at first what she saw, however he never got the chance. Without waiting for a conformation the girl stocked off across the cobblestone drive, headed straight inside of the little business.

She was so perfect. Beautiful, and young. Defiant -but in similar standing- an undisputed leader. If only He had not come sniffing around her everything would have remained per the norm. The aging gentleman had to reestablish himself as Alpha more and more each day. Their reliance on him was questionable, as were their loyalties. And he knew full well that at the slightest sign of weakness she would take yet another bite. And the next time, no matter how much he loved her, he would not hold back.

"Why don't you just talk to her about it then, if it truly bothers you that much." Gwenaelle spoke solemnly while leading her friend into another room farther back of Peau de Fleur.

"It's not like I haven't tried. It's just that," Raoul shrugged, "I don't know."

The young woman looked up to him with pity in her eyes. "If she really loves you then she'll listen."

His heart sank when she said that. The flower girl was right. If they truly did love one another then they would be able to work things through. Why should he be worried anyway? If Lucille spent time with Francoeur it wasn't like they could truly do anything. Could they? Still, it was the point of the matter. Maybe if he just went up to her and acted calm about it they could settle on a compromise. He just had to keep his cool next time.

Gwenaelle stopped at a side door and opened it for him. He had not known ahead of time what she had wanted to show him. She just mentioned offhandedly about it and soon he found himself following along behind her. His chocolate-brown eyes fell upon about five large barrels. Confusion struck him.

"It's Sunflower Seed Oil," Gwenaelle explained.

His gaze turned to her, his face composed of a mix of surprise and childish adoration. His eyes caught hers and her normally snow-white cheeks flushed rose. She reached for her lips to stifle a small yip. The way he looked at her ran a shiver down her spine.

Gwenaelle cleared her throat and looked back into the room, braking the lock he held on her. "It's a gift for all you've done for me. That fertilizer is something amazing." She giggled to lighten the mood.

The bell that hung over the front door that signaled someone's entrance rang out and that forced enough reality into the two to part them for a moment. Raoul bent down and lifted up one of the wooden barrels onto his shoulder. Gwenaelle followed quietly behind as they zig-zagged back out of the storage room. She trotted in front of him and opened the door, propping it with a block so he wouldn't need her as he collected the rest.

After his concerns were attended to the shop keeper turned her attentions to the individual who had severed their connection moments before. This lady she had never seen before so she must have been new to Paris. Despite being an off-cast Gwenaelle knew almost everyone who lived in the general area, by name or otherwise. Perhaps this new citizen had moved here recently. It would be interesting to see what kinds of green things she had brought over with her.

Raoul had loaded the final barrel into Cathrine's trunk and closed her up for a safe journey. He then said goodbye to Gwenaelle and asked if she would be attending the Paris Gardens. Lucille was scheduled to sing for a party being hosted there for the arrival of some stuck up royal from England. She confirmed this and the two parted.

The delivery boy waved as he comically vanished from sight around the side of Cathrine. Gwenaelle giggled silently, turning slightly to enter back into Peau de Fleur. At that same moment Capulet made her exit. She bowed and Gwenaelle thanked her for her purchase and hoped she would come again. Despite the woman's unseen eye and ostensibly permanent scowl she had been rather pleasant. The woman had bought some particularly rich soil and asked about places to buy fresh mineral water. All the girl said was that she had a picky rose who needed only the best of the best.

Capulet strolled along the side of the walk, a paper bag held in her arms containing her sale. Her ears picked up the click of an automobile's door closing and she made her move. She placed herself right at the front of the hood, halting the driver from both starting his ride and venturing off. She saw his elongated face through the windshield widen in surprise at her sudden appearance. He then stuck that same head out of the driver side window.

"Can I help you," Raoul asked skeptically.

Capulet took a moment to respond, calculating the next set of moves in her mind like a master at a game of chess.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind giving me a lift home? It's quite a ways away."

To make herself appear a tad more convincing she put on a somewhat disarming smile and batted her eyes, cocking her head to the side and making her hair flow across her collarbone. She could still be flirtatious when she wanted to.

Now it was Raoul's turn to take a moment in through. This girl was familiar but he couldn't place where or when he might have seen her. But, she looked harmless enough and was rather pretty. He certainly wouldn't mind some companionship himself.

"Sure but, I have to run some errands along the way."

Capulet continued to grin pleasantly like a cat toying with her prey. "I don't mind, I'm in no hurry." As long as this flattery bore fruit he could drive her around the whole city five times and back.

She backed up and entered into his vehicle from the passenger side door. The inside was lined with some kinds of cheap leather and stank like it too. There was also the faint wafting of both manure and flora coming from the tiny, rectangular window behind her head that view the massive transport's innards. Capulet took in a deep breath to clear her mind but only succeeded in clouding it more. She turned back to her chauffeur and smiled sweetly again and the two were off.

Neither spoke a lot, finding no real need to. Raoul was the initiate, asking if she was new to Paris. His companion replied with a yes and that had started up another stream of one-sided conversations. Raoul found that maybe he should give her some kind of tour as they went along. So, every so often the delivery boy perked up about one landmark or another. Despite being rather off-cast Capulet did listen to what he piped out now and again. She knew about all the places he was talking about. What she was waiting for was some indication of personal significance. Nothing.

Eventually their ride ended up in a distant stretch of road winding its way through a forest of trees. A column had been neatly planted and trimmed along each side of the unpaved way. The building towering before them was prodigious and could easily be seen well beyond the entrance into the street of birch and oak. As they drew close Capulet could truly appreciate just how tall the structure was. From her vantage point it was just a wall of concrete and wood and glass and steel. Intimidating. A stretch of skinny double-doors stood as sentinels among a cluster of discarded buckets, half-filled crates of miscellaneous gardening tools, wooden poles and ladders standing on end, along with some furniture and sculptures of one form or another. The place appeared in general disarray even though it was obvious someone lived there. Her guide parked rather close and opened his door, flopping out onto the lonely yard of garbage.

"I won't be long."

Capulet did little else but nod in acknowledgment, watching him enter into the unknown expanse beyond without fear. Then, she waited, counting out five minutes to the second within her head. Was that enough time? She would find out.

Lucille had eventually gathered enough composure and proposed that they go out into the city and do some shopping. She and Francoeur had gone into a few furniture parlors and selected some pieces they both liked. There were even a couple of new tables they would use for the Greenhouse. Speaking of which, their trail eventually lead them to Peau de Fleur.

When they entered the owner as usual quickly answered the bell, eager to help out her new customers. Of course, when Gwenaelle saw who it was her pale face lit up and she greeted them as friends. She would not yet let on to what she had learned from Raoul -about him and Lucille and Francoeur.

"Hello, Gwenaelle. How are things?" Lucille asked when they had gotten close.

The gigantic masked man beside her gave a petite bow in greeting.

"Fine, as always. And you?" The young owner asked.

"Good. I was hoping today we could pick up some new plants for the Greenhouse. Or, rather just look into some. We still haven't gotten any new panes for the shell yet."

Gwenaelle nodded in understanding. "I know someone who might be able to help with that. I think Raoul might make delivers for him too. His name is Johan and he runs the carpentry company on the edge of Paris."

"Wow, I'll have to ask Raoul about it."

By this time Francoeur had wandered off into the shop and begun inspecting his quarry. Lucille giggled a little watching him. She was always curious as to why he loved flowers so. Nothing wrong with that. When their indoor garden was finished she knew it would be the most beautiful in Paris, even rivaling Professor Auclair's.

"Has he stopped by yet?" She asked, turning back to Gwenaelle.

The owner nodded. "Yes, he left perhaps a couple of minutes ago. He also took with him a girl." The end popped out before she could stop it. That possibly wasn't the best answer to give considering now that she knew her two friends were an item.

"A girl?" Lucille's expression twisted in mock jealousy. "What girl?"

"Umm, I didn't get her name but she was rather nice. She bought some fertilizer." Gwenaelle caught herself in adding, "I don't think he knew her though. She was just asking for a lift home."

The preforming wasn't satisfied and her friend could tell. "What did she look like?"

That was an easy enough interrogation. "Tall with long black hair that covered up half of her face. Really pretty too."

Only one individual came to Lucille's mind: Capulet.

"It sounds to me as though you regret transforming your flea friend back into his humanoid self."

Raoul stood across from a man in his mid-to-late thirties. Between the two stretched a crooked desk playing host to a plethora of intricately shaped vials filled with neon liquids colored in shades of the rainbow. Behind him was a row of shelving filled to the brim with books and manuals of all sizes and learning, the perfect landscape for Professor Louis Auclair.

This was only one of the two most civilized sections existing with the Professor's residence. Doubling as both his home and work, the expanse could have been labeled as both a Greenhouse and his own personal dwelling. Only a very short distance beyond the two resided the other living denizens comprising the majority of the structure's leveled singular floor. As far as the eye could see an infinite number of plant-life lived symbiotically beside their caretaker. There were trees and flowers from all over the world here, from Africa to Asia and even the Americas. Tropical palms reached for beams of sun shining down from the glass dome near twenty feet above. Shrubs and grasses of all shapes resided far below, basking in the remaining glory left over by their far more lengthy cousins. The entire expanse was lit with little need for lamps or torches.

The trapped air inside of the wigwam felt like a wet weighted cape slung across the occupant's shoulders. It was a struggle to even breath though the space was ripe with oxygen. And though the area they were in was rather spacious there was still a sense of claustrophobia as the walls of greenery closed in from every corner of sight. Raoul took a deep breath of the cryptogam scented aether.

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well. I don't know. I just wanting to make Lucille happy. But, if she's happier with him than what was the point. I could of just left him the way he was. Maybe she would have even forgotten about him after a while."

Louis was silently listening on, contemplating his part-time assistant's dilemma. He adjusted his rectangular glasses outlining insightful oculars of a dull chestnut and shifted his gaze to the ceiling The afternoon sun shown off of his immaculate lab coat and made it into a cape of coppery light. Ebony locks, now graying due to both age and stress alike vacated his face as it tightened in thought.

"So what will you do now?" The Professor's voice was beginning to show signs of ware, hiding a crackling undertone.

Raoul didn't answer immediately. Truth was he really didn't know what to do. It was still possible to revert Francoeur back to his original self. But that would devastate his girlfriend. The insect-man meant a lot to her that she tried to act blind to. The delivery boy's emotions in the form of both jealousy and envy twisted within his stomach like a pair of writhing serpents at a ploy for dominance. If only he hadn't even messed around in the Professor's lab to begin with these entire events would have been bypassed entirely. Louis wouldn't forgive him by the way. Not for a many long year of constant supervision by either himself or Charles.

Speaking of which, the monkey had taken to relaxing within a weaved rope perch strung for him between two arched coconut palms. He watched the scene with mild interest. This conversation was only one of many and Charles was becoming tired of hearing the same questions reiterated every few days or so from the same man he was only trying to help. Maybe it had been partially his fault. True he could have held back his hand in revealing that his Master had returned from his trip. But, he personally was happy with the way things had turned out. He and Francoeur had become fast friends, the Proboscis primate being one of his teachers when it had come to writing. In a way it was a kind of bonding. Charles might have been just as intelligent as say, Raoul, but he was not human. Same thing with Francoeur. The Flea had the structure and brain of a man, but that was all. Both had the makings to become so much more if given the chance.

Charles shivered for a moment, his snow-white fur bristling beneath his green-checkered beret and tan vest. His bulbous-nosed face pivoted towards the artificial tropics behind. An enormous cluster of prehistoric ferns blocked any actual view of the mossy floor. Even still, there almost felt to be a kind of dark presence, a heaviness not attune to the humid atmosphere. The intelligent monkey remained where he sat, motionless and waiting, watching. A fleeting stock parted, in its wake a lithe black figure crouched with its stomach horizontal to the ground like a panther poised to kill.

Charles gave a holler from top of his lungs, silencing any conversations from behind. The predatory darkness shot back from whence it had emerged, never to be seen again.

Needless to say that had been the end of Raoul and the Professor's talk. Both had rushed to the aid of the third mammal, thinking him in dire peril. Come to find out that it had merely been for a strange shadow that could have possibly came from one of the solar lamps from the lab. Charles became defensive when Raoul had suggested such a thing. He might be a monkey but he was smart enough to not be spooked by his own shadow!

They said their goodbyes and Louis announced that their next session would be later that night. The Professor submerged both pudgy hands into his coat pockets, never really bidding a goodbye as his unwished for student took his leave. He just turned and waddled back into the circular plain of modern botany.

Raoul exited the building to find Cathrine right where he had left her. As he opened the driver-side door there was Capulet, right where he had left her. So, sensing nothing amiss, he hopped into his vehicle and was off.

"Now, where exactly did you say you lived again?"

"I didn't." The girl responded rather sharply.

Raoul shrugged it off. "Okay then, where do you live?"

"I don't know the name of the street it's on but I know if you continue going straight east you should reach it. It's an old mansion outside of Paris. It was vacant for a while, I believe."

Strange directions.

Raoul felt somewhat like an idiot when he was forced to ask, "which way is east?"

He could have sworn he could see her roll her eyes at him as she daftly pointed to her left. Without further questions he turned off, attempting to keep as linear a path as possible given the twists and turns of the city. If ever he did falter she was right there to guide him back to right. The ride wasn't long but it certainly felt like it. Capulet was quiet for the entire trip and Raoul had ran out of conversational pieces -aside from beginning to gain a sense of unease in her presence. Eventually the skyscrapers parted and streets widened. Farther still till the roads became unpaved and where grass fought with flowers instead of brick to reach the sun. There, as a softly rolling plain of daisies and clovers shrunk towards them, arose a rectangular mansion nestled in front of a crowning border of Rowan.

It was huge. The young adult knew it had been on the retail market for a good couple of years. This girl, or her family, must have finally bought it. It was a beautiful, three level home accented with elegantly carved ivory pillars. Jutting out from all sides hung balconies below stained windows, while a wide rimmed porch encompassed the entire base of the structure. It was richly painted in a stunning mahogany, the angular roof a blinding white in the setting sun.

Capulet informed her chauffeur to stop at the front gate. The outer wall was merely an ill-managed picket fence bordering yet another field where a dirt drive cut up the center and ended at the dwelling. She opened the door to Cathrine's passenger side and gracefully stepped to the earth below. But before leaving she did turn back and locked his eyes with her one.

"Thanks," was the only word that came from between her lips.

She then closed the door and began her walk. For some reason Raoul didn't drive away immediately. Instead he watched her leave, something pulling at the back of his head. He witnessed a pair of sprightly young girls bound up from the home in perhaps a somewhat overly ecstatic greeting. That was when revelation hit. Those were the two crazy twins from last night at the Rare Bird. Then the third, older girl must be the same one he was driving around all day. He knew he knew her from somewhere! Raoul felt pleased with himself for remembering, even though it didn't mater either way. He would possibly never see her again. Well, maybe a chance meeting at the club or Gwenaelle's flower shop. He smiled, proud of himself, before finally driving away.

Francoeur eventually decided on three particularly lovely flowers: a wild Irish Rose, a Tiger Lilly, and some Ivy. As he and Lucille walked home together they talked quietly. She told him of a new idea she had for an act. Not even Carlotta knew about it yet. Lucille knew they could perfect it at the end of the week and would be able to preform it on stage to surprise her. He was ecstatic over the idea but she wouldn't tell him anything more about it till they got home.

They couldn't keep the plants in the garden just yet. Maybe tomorrow they would go over to that carpentry place Gwenaelle had mentioned. So, for the time being they placed one in the kitchen and the other two in the living room. After, Lucille took her singing partner by the hands and lead him back up the the roof.

By this point the Parisian sky was shaded in a gorgeous violet like that of royal velvet sewn in with diamonds and pearls. The income of night had draped the air in a frigid blanket per usual. The grand skyline of the city was laid out for all to see like the blackened fangs of some primordial beast poised to swallow the cosmos. Wispy tendons of smoke wafted from hearth fires nestled far below their throat-like chimneys.

As the two friends glanced out across the serenely calming landscape of their home Lucille asked, "can you sing for me that song again? The one you sang the night we met?"

The Monster of Paris turned down to her, confusion muddling his golden oculars. She wanted to hear his song? Did he remember it? Yes, he remembered well. So, he granted her request. Inhaling deeply he began to sing in his soft soprano voice.

I hide my light

Under a cloak of night

With a red scarf

And a chapeau

I hide my heart

Within my carapace

I'm too scared

To let it show

That it may break

I read in the Journal

Written in capital letters

A Monster in Paris

I stand apart

I stand apart

I am apparently at hand

Around the midnight streets of Paris

A Monster in Paris

I hide my pain

Inside my melodies

These simple notes

Saving my life

I hide my hopes

I hide my fears

I'm too scared

They flee

For I am

A Monster in Paris

A Monster in Paris

A Monster in Paris

His words were so delicate as if they were spun of the thinest glass. Every note held an underlining meaning as his very soul poured out with each completed verse. Lucille grew moved as his song drew to its finality. Those same emotions that had driven her to stifle her fears and approach his beastly form rose to the surface. Even though his form was grotesque and inhuman those lyrics that struggled to surface from the very pit of his being had been cried out by that of a tormented heart. A heart shunned for nothing more then being itself. She had apparently been the only one to see through his 'carapace' and witness the turmoil wrathing beneath. That was how she knew it was meant to be.

The young singer turned her gaze up to him and what she saw caused her own heart to plummet. Francoeur's face was glued to the clouds hanging high above them. His eyes were distant, almost nonexistent as they streamed trains of silver down his freckled cheeks. He was crying.

Immediately Lucille stood on her toes, reaching up with both hands to grasp the side of his face. She forced him to turn to her, pulling his startled face till it was level with hers. Their eyes locked, exchanging unbridled passion between hazel and crimson. With the two locked in place all feeling he held for that song rushed into her, overwhelming her. Within those lyrics he had held his deepest fears, the demons that still tortured him till this day. Eventually she found herself crying too.

"You are not a Monstre, Francoeur. No matter what anyone says. You never were, nor ever will be, a Monstre."

-**END** **OF CHAPTER**-

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